


Keys in Locks

by jawsandbones



Series: Ficlits [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: After fighting the Arishok, there are a few who choose to watch over Hawke while she sleeps. Carver comes to check on the one family he has left, finds Fenris is becoming part of it as well.---“Stupid Marian. You just had to fight the bloody Arishok all by yourself,” Carver mumbles under his breath, staring at the freckles on her cheeks.“She fought well,” Fenris says.“I’m sure she did.”





	Keys in Locks

She isn’t allowed to lie on her side. Pillows propped and carefully placed, making sure she stays on her back. Barks is very careful in the way he moves, where he puts his paws, in the space he occupies. Nudging up one of her arms with his face, curling in against her. In the small moments of her waking, she smiles, gives him weak head rubs. Most often, she simply sleeps. People come and go, to see her and to pat his head. They bring him treats, which he likes, and likes their leaving less. Barks stays by her side, doesn’t leave. There’s only one other who stays the same way he does. Fenris lounges in the chair beside her bed, his legs outstretched and hands linked over his belly. His eyes are closed, but he doesn’t sleep.

Somewhere below, a key fits into a lock. He closes the door to an empty street, the darkened night. Putting the key back in the pouch, his hand on the banister. He takes each step carefully, lightly. Despite how cautious he’s being, Barks still raises his head. At the sudden shift, Fenris’s eyes open. Hands on the armrest, pushing himself up to sit properly. Watching the doorway, ready to reach for his sword, just there, beside the nightstand. He doesn’t need to. Barks sees who it is, puts his head back down. Carver wears some complicated armor, a more complicated frown. Making his way towards the bed, letting his hand slip into hers.

“They allowed me to come,” Carver tells Fenris, “we’re leaving soon.” He brushes back the wisps of hair that cross her face, smooth down the blankets. All very carefully done, meant not to wake her, and Hawke sleeps too deeply.

“She would be happy to see you,” Fenris says. Of course she would. Carver stands up straight, tall, but his hand lingers in hers. She is unquestionably pale, dark circles under her eyes. She seems to sink into the pillows, into the bed, hair like dark streams over the pillow. There’s a light sheen of sweat on her skin, her body still fighting even as she doesn’t move. He hates how much she reminds him of Malcolm in this way. Strength and laughter, weak and weakness.

“What did Anders say?” Fenris leans forward in the chair, hands linked together.

“She will recover,” he says and struggles with the words, “more than that is not mine to tell.” Carver nods.

“Stupid Marian. You just had to fight the bloody Arishok all by yourself,” Carver mumbles under his breath, staring at the freckles on her cheeks.

“She fought well,” Fenris says.

“I’m sure she did.” From opposite sides of the bed, they regard each other. Barks moves closer to her, rests his head on her shoulder. Hawke doesn’t stir at the touch, nor at the tongue that makes its way across her cheek. It’s Fenris who breaks the gaze first, looking away from Carver, looking at Barks and looking at her.

“You know, she writes to me. I haven’t written back yet, which I suppose makes me a bit of an arse,” Carver says, “but she told me. About the two of you.” He watches as every inch of Fenris tenses up, the line of his shoulders stiff, his feet planted. He holds his hands so tightly, fingertips biting into skin and knuckles white. In this and only this, he’s so obvious. She knows, just as Carver knows, just by looking at him. He wears it plainly. A fool could see it. She would never ask, never push, never pry, but Carver isn’t his sister. “Whatever it is that’s stopping you from being with her… good. Brave of you to walk away.”

Fenris looks up, startled. He doesn’t feel brave. He feels ashamed. Carver sighs, shifts from one foot to the other. Reaching up with free hand, scratching at his chin, pinching the space between his brows. He lets his hand fall back down. “Sort it out. Do what you have to do. She’ll wait,” Carver says. That’s who she is. Endless patience no matter how much of an arse you are. Carver chuckles under his breath, laughing to himself.

“Carver –” Fenris starts, but Carver shakes his head.

“Nope. Done talking about it. I have to go back and rejoin the rest of the Wardens,” he says. Finally taking his hand from hers. Putting a finger to the middle of her forehead. Any other time, it might have been a flick, a push, a press. Now it’s just a ghost of that same affection. Reaching over, giving Barks a good scratch on the head. Fenris isn’t sure if he should stand as Carver goes to leave.

He stops in the doorway, only barely looks over his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here with her. She’ll like that,” he says. Fenris slumps in the chair as he listens to the footsteps, one by one, back down the stairs. A key fits into a lock, and Carver leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


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